


Burning the Heart out of You and Me

by holopansy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Backstory, Child Abuse, Gen, Murder, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rivalry, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holopansy/pseuds/holopansy
Summary: Of how young James Moriarty became Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Great Game

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Quemando el corazón fuera de ti y de mi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406016) by [holopansy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holopansy/pseuds/holopansy)



"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh, let me guess. I get killed."

"Kill you?"

"Uh, no. Don't be obvious."

"I mean, I'm going to kill you anyways. Some day."

"I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something *special.*"

"No, no no no no."

"If you don't stop prying…"

"I'll burn you."

"I'll burn the HEART out of you." 

  
  
  


\---------------------

  
  


_ Something is wrong.  _

She watches her son as he falls instead of dives.

He's trying to swim. 

His arms are giving out.

She runs over to the coach. 

His legs are getting weak. 

"Stop! Somethings wrong!" 

"Carl!" 

Splashing. 

He's dragged out of the water. 

The lifeguard is attempting CPR.

It's too late. 

Sobs reverberate through the room, bouncing off the water. 

13 year old Jim Moriarty permits himself a sigh of satisfaction, holding back a small smile. 

This is how it feels to be alive, by taking someone's breath. 

As the rest of the team is shuttered back onto buses, Carl's body remains.

So does what was left of James Moriarty's humanity. 

  
  
  
  



	2. Cries

**9 October 1982 - age 6**

"You SLAG!" 

"FUCK YOU!" 

"NO, FUCK *YOU* you're the one who cheated!" 

Jimmy is sitting in his room, around the corner from the vicious words coming out of his parents' mouths. 

"Maybe if you could get it up more than once every 6 months, I wouldn't need to cheat!" 

"Yeah, and maybe if you weren't a fat pig, I'd actually want to fuck you!" 

Jimmy cowers when he hears the breaking of a plate. 

"BASTARD! DON'T BREAK MY FUCKING DISHES!"

"THEY'RE MINE TO DO WITH WHAT I WANT. I PAID FOR THEM." 

Another plate shatters.

"I HATE YOU!" 

"I hate you too! You're a lazy, fat, piece of shit! All you do is spend my money and whore yourself out for any man who will look at you like the piece of meat you are." 

Someone spits. 

The table is flipped over. 

His cries are not heard. 

They are not soothed. 

They will never be soothed. 

  
  
  



	3. Preparations in the moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: self-harm

**30 minutes before:**

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Carl!" 

"What do you want, Jim?"

"Your skin cream. It fell out of your bag." Jim offers it to him submissively. 

Carl rips it from his hand. 

"Thanks, fag." He raises a hand, pretending to hit Jim. When Jim flinches, he smirks. 

He doesn't see Jim's own grin. 

  
  
  
  
  


**The night before:**

  
  
  
  
  


Jim is holding his breath, from his fingers dangles a razorblade. 

He takes the left edge of it and pokes it into his thigh, just below the line of his pants. A sharp line is drawn, only felt, not yet seen. 

He breathes out. Sets down the blade. Taking two fingers, he prods open the cut and pushes out the blood. He watches the blood collect into small puddles along the self-inflicted wound. 

_ Another line would be twice as nice.  _

He repeats the action, this time collecting the blood on his finger. This is the only thing that can arouse him, the sight of blood on his thigh. But this is just foreplay. 

He opens his box of matches and pulls out the shattered handle of his mother's candy dish, broken years ago during one of her tantrums. 

He spreads his thighs and admires the glint of the aquamarine glass in the moonlight. This doesn't require much pressure, not like the razorblade. 4, 5, 6 drags of the crushed edge in quick succession bring him to full hardness. Red blooms in bubbles, bursts, and begins to trickle. He swallows an exhalation of relief, a laugh catching in his throat. One hand presses into the stinging slices, while the other teases his length. 

  
  
  
  
  


He finishes with a low moan, satisfied. James brings his fingers to his mouth, licking off the blood, wet metal and salt wrapped around pliable heat. Gently, he cleans himself up, bandaging his cuts-he's much too proud to leave scars-and settles into bed, ready for the resolution of months of preparation. 


	4. Monkey see Monkey do

**13 January 1984 - age 8**

“Don’t fucking try me, cunt!” 

Spiderman sticks a hand in Wonder Woman’s face. 

*crash*

“What the fuck!”

James peers around the corner into the kitchen. The table has been upended and his mom shoves his dad.

Spiderman pulls back Wonder Woman’s arm. 

“Don’t fucking touch me, bitch!” 

Wonder Woman slams her fist into Spiderman’s face. 

“Fuck you, you bastard!” 

A glass shatters and there is a struggle.

“I should just fucking kill you right here, right now.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” his mom whispers. 

James looks up from his action figures and sees his father digging a piece of broken glass into his mother’s throat. 

“Oh, I could. But i’d rather not have to clean up the mess,” his father backs away and James sees a drop of blood trailing down his mother’s neck. 

“I’m going out. I can’t stand to look at your ugly face.”

“I could say the same about you, motherfucker,” she says, holding a towel to the cut. 

  
  
  
  
  


When it’s time for bed, Wonder Woman is missing a leg and Spiderman is beyond salvation. 


	5. Junior forensic lab

**One week before:**

For having a forensic lab that deals with deadly materials, the University of Sussex wasn’t very closely guarded. Jim had been in the junior forensic program for only a month, and already he had been given access to most of the rooms in the sciences building. His plan was coming together more smoothly than anticipated, and he didn’t think that even coming home to his mother drunk and angry tonight would get him out of his good mood. He takes a sip of his tea and enters professor Burton’s office. The professor is engrossed in grading tests, just as he is every Tuesday. He doesn’t look up to address Jim. 

“Mr. Moriarty, what can I do for you?” 

Jim knows that the best lies are the ones closest to the truth. 

“I need to get into the lab. I believe I left my maths homework there, and it’s due tomorrow.” 

“I don’t think I saw any papers there, but we can check.” Professor Burton rises from his chair and begins walking to the basement, Jim trailing behind. When they reach the door, professor Burton swipes his card, and opens the door for him.

It’s time for part two of his plan. 

Jim starts to walk in the room, but his shoe catches on the door, and his tea spills out onto professor Burton’s trousers. 

“I’m so sorry, sir! Let me get some paper towels to clean it up,” Jim pretends to start to walk towards the toilets.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it. You go find your homework. I’ll be right back.” 

“Are you sure? It’s my fault. I can clean up the spill.” 

“I’m positive. Just find your homework,” professor Burton walks out the door and down the hallway towards the men’s toilets, and Jim wastes no time. He knows that the closest toilet is being cleaned, and therefore professor Burton will have to go to the one on a different floor, which permits him two minutes as opposed to the 45 seconds it normally would take to retrieve paper towels. He pulls out a key from his pocket, pulls on some gloves, and finds the locked refrigerator. Jim listens for footsteps as he fits the key in the lock and gently opens the petri dish labeled  _ C. botulinum.  _ He grabs a cotton bud and collects a small amount, dropping it in a bag. After carefully returning the petri dish to its shelf and locking the fridge, Jim bins the gloves, places the bag in his backpack, and pulls out his maths assignment. As he walks towards the door, professor Burton returns. 

“You found it?”

“I did! I had left it in the drawer underneath my station. Thank you for letting me grab it; my teacher wouldn’t have been very happy with me if I didn’t have it.”

“Of course. I’m glad that it was here.”

“I’m sorry again about the tea. I shouldn’t have brought it, I know there are rules against food and drink in the labs for that very reason.” 

“It’s no big deal, don’t worry yourself too much over it. I’ll see you next monday, correct? We’re doing a lesson on titration!” 

“That sounds like it’ll be very fun. I will definitely be there. Have a good evening, professor Burton.” 

“You too, James.” 


	6. Lies and punishments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied child abuse

**22 April 1985 - age 9**

“JAMES!” 

“Yes, mummy?”

“Why is your homework left out on the table? I thought I told you to put it away when you’re done with it?!”

“I’m sorry, mummy.”

“Sorry isn’t going to fix your mistakes! You’re so helpless. I don’t want to fucking look at you! Clean up this fucking mess and get in your room!”

James begins to clear the papers from the table, when he hears the front door open. 

“JAMES!” 

His mother has walked into the kitchen, surprising him. He knocks over his cup of water, spilling it onto the shopping list on the other end of the table. 

This will not end well. 

“Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me?!” 

His mother grabs his arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. She drags him to the living room, where his father is taking off his shoes and coat. Her scowl deepens. 

“I can’t do this. He’s worthless and pathetic. Get this brat out of my fucking sight.” 

“What did he do?”

“Left his homework all over the table and poured his water on my important papers,” she lies. “You punish him, he disgusts me.” 

His father’s expression hardens. The fire in his eyes is a perfect complement to the ice in James’ mother’s. 

“You really can’t behave for one day, can you?” 

“I didn’t do anything…” 

“ARE YOU TALKING BACK TO ME?!” 

James flinches. 

“Get to your room. NOW.” 

James’ mother releases his arm, and he scrambles up the stairs. 

He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to hold back tears that he knows will eventually spill when his father punishes him. 

The sound of his father’s heavy footsteps carry up the stairs, and James hears the rustling of the belt being pulled from the loops of his jeans. 


	7. Laughter starts to swell like someone gets the joke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pencey Prep - 8th Grade

**One month before:**

It seemed that the universe was out to get one Jim Moriarty today, Jim thought as he searched through his bag for his biology homework. 

Today had started with him waking up late, and has now culminated in him not being able to find his homework, which definitely remembers doing. He continues to flip through his assignments, even as his teacher walks down the aisle, collecting the homework. 

“Mr. Moriarty, your homework?” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Adams. I don’t know what happened to it. I swear, I completed it last night.” 

“This is unacceptable, James. We’ll talk about it after class,” Mr. Adams says, walking up to the student behind Jim and collecting her homework. Jim slumps in his seat and resigns himself to a long lecture. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


After every student had shuffled out of the classroom except for Jim, Mr. Adams beckons Jim over. 

“James, as much as I hate to do this, I cannot continue to permit you to get away with not completing your homework assignments. I’m going to have to call your mother and inform her.” 

Jim’s heart starts to beat much quicker. 

“Please, sir. I swear that I did my homework. I think I left it on my desk at home. I can bring it to you first thing in the morning. Please don’t call my mother!” he begs, trying to express the panic he feels.

“I’m sorry, James. This is the third time in just as many weeks that you’ve not completed an assignment, and you know my policies. I hope that this will change your behavior.” 

Jim feels a tear trail down his cheek as his teacher picks up the phone to dial his mother’s number. Just at that moment, Carl Powers peers into the room, meeting Jim’s eyes. 

Before he is able to wipe away the salty drop of water, Carl laughs. 

“Is the fag _crying?_ That’s hilarious,” Carl blurts out. “I really wish everyone else was here to see this!” 

Jim’s panic and desperation turns into white-hot anger. Carl doesn’t understand. He will never understand the pain of living with a horrible bitch as a mother, or dealing with so much anger that you can’t stop yourself from lashing out at yourself, creatures, or other people. 

He shoves past Carl and turns away to walk down the hallway before Carl can say anything more, those hateful laughs ringing in his ears.

With fists clenched and jaw set, plans begin to form in his brain.

Jim Moriarty will never be laughed at again. 


	8. The rotten pillars of my past discretions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Spells - Diluted

**11 May 1986 - age 10**

Birds are incredibly beautiful creatures. The delicacy of their wings, the fragility of their bodies - it’s beyond compare. The smaller the bird is, the better, and the best is the goldcrest. Simultaneously beautiful and the most delicate, people generally say it’s their favorite bird. For ten-year-old Jim Moriarty, the bird only fills him with anger. Something so beautiful and small shouldn’t be allowed to exist. 

On the other hand, there are birds of prey. Jim could spend hours watching films on eagles, hawks, and owls. The natural predator of the goldcrest is the sparrowhawk, and Jim loves watching them hunt. Although he needs binoculars to view the full beauty of it, watching a sparrowhawk soar and then stoop to attack finches, sparrows, and starlings is his favorite hunting method. There’s something spectacular about the steep dives and crushing power of it’s claws. 

Jim has finally arrived at the edge of the woods, shoebox under his right arm. The bird hasn’t really made any noise since the initial capture, but like every other goldcrest he’s brought to his clearing, it will do so once it’s released. He lifts the lid of the box slightly, and puts his hand in. The bird’s wings flap rapidly, but Jim quickly clasps a hand around it’s grey body, pulling it out. The crest on her head is the brightest yellow he’s ever seen, and he feels proud that he caught such a gorgeous one. He considered breaking her leg, but he doesn’t have to be home until dinner, and he wants to watch the hunt play out. Looking up, he finds his sparrowhawk perched on the highest branch of the tree before him, eyes locked on that bright yellow mark. 

He releases her. 

  
…………

  
He turns down the street and there’s an ambulance and a police car in his driveway. He isn’t all that concerned, but he knows he has to keep up appearances, so he quickly jogs the rest of the way. As he reaches the front door, a policeman walks out, his dad in tow. 

“Do you not see the cuts on my hands?! I didn’t touch that crazy bitch! I didn’t touch her! She did all of that to herself!” 

Jim watches his dad as he’s steered to the back of the police car, noting the bruise forming under his eye and the aforementioned cuts.

“Women don’t hurt men. They are much too weak. Quit talking or you’re going to have much bigger problems than some self-inflicted cuts.” 

Jim’s father promptly shuts his mouth and the door is slammed. Jim stands silently as the officer moves to the front of the vehicle, enters the driver’s seat, and clicks his seatbelt. 

“Son, your mother could really use your support right now. Go inside and see her,” he says, turning on the engine. Jim’s eyes meet his father’s, desperation becoming pure hatred. Even when he’s being carted away to jail, his father has a one-track mind. He watches the car back out of the drive, take a left down the road, and turn onto the main street. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, and his mum is sat at the table with a trembling stained-red hand towel against her cheek. 

“James! You’re home! I’m so glad that you weren’t here to witness this,” she says. “Don’t worry, your father is never going to hurt us again.” Her face contorts into a smile of relief. 

It’s a sick and twisted show she’s putting on, but Jim is just as enraptured as the policewoman and the paramedic with her performance, although for a different reason. Within two sentences, his fear towards his mother twists itself into a form of cautious respect. 


	9. Rumors

**6 months before:**

Jim is straightening his new school badge when his mother’s voice slips under the door. 

“James? Are you up? We have to leave in fifteen minutes.” 

“Yes, mum. I’m about to come down for breakfast.” Jim replies, checking his hair and turning around to grab his backpack. He’s unconcerned about how he looks, and isn’t really interested in making a good impression. He would prefer to make a bad impression if he had to make any at all. After getting expelled from Causeway, his mother berated him for hours - of course, after slapping him around for good measure first - and even though he’s mostly numb to her abuse, he would rather avoid it by not causing any problems at Cavendish.

He walks down the stairs, and finds his mum drinking tea at the kitchen table. She gives him a soft smile as he grabs an apple off of the counter and pours himself some tea. He sits down across from her. 

“Are you ready for your first day?” She reaches out and clasps a bony hand around his wrist, grinning when he nods. “I want to remind you that today is the first day of the rest of your life,” she rubs her thumb along the bump of bone, “and that everything is in the past. But I do NOT want you to fuck this up.” Her grip tightens. “If you make another _mistake_ , we will have some problems. Understand?” She lets go, and he can feel his heartbeat in the paled skin. 

“I understand, mum.” 

“Great. Let’s go. I don’t want you to be late on your first day.” He quickly drinks his tea, places the mug in the sink, and follows her out the door and to the car. 

The drive isn’t too long, and by the time he’s standing outside the doors of Cavendish, he’s cautiously optimistic. There are a lot more students at this school, which means that blending in seamlessly is likely. Jim walks through the front doors, having timed his arrival perfectly so that he is neither early nor late. His first class is at the far end of the school, so he speedwalks there, contemplating the best desk to sit in. Sitting up close would mark him a teacher’s pet, and sitting in the back would basically tell the other students and teacher that he has something he wants to hide. The middle would imply that he wants to be the center of social interaction. He decides that picking a seat in a middle column in a row close to the door is his best bet, and slides into his chosen desk, immediately going into his bag for a pen. 

“...the new kid?”

“...punched a teacher in the face”

“...fire to the school”

Jim feels eyes burning into him, but he resolutely keeps his head down.

“Class! Please settle down. I have some announcements to make. First, we have a new student,” the teacher, Mrs. Jacombe, locks eyes with Jim. “James has transferred from Causeway School. Is that the name you would like us to call you?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I also like Jim.” 

“Okay! Welcome to our school.” she looks away from him and continues with her announcements. 

  
…………

  
The last class of the day is winding down, and Jim is glad for it. He has a fair amount of homework assigned, and it’s begun raining, but only one of his teachers made him stand up at the front of the class to introduce himself, and none of the students have said anything - it seems a lot of rumors are already surrounding his arrival, some of them closer to the truth than his fellow students would actually believe. 

“Hey!” 

“Hey!” 

The back of Jim’s chair receives a kick, and he raises his head. He turns around to face the girl behind him, sitting with another girl and a tall boy with red, raw-looking hands.

“Why did you transfer?” 

Jim thinks over his answer. 

“Why do you think I transferred, darling?” He grins wickedly. 

“Was it for being a fag?” The boy asks, resulting in a chuckle from the group of friends surrounding him. 

“No, I didn’t transfer for being a _fag_.”

“What was it for, then?” She asks. 

“It’s so much more fun to speculate, isn’t it?” 

“I heard that you spray-painted the men’s room and clogged all the toilets.”

“I heard that you set fire to the library.” 

The bell rings, signifying the end of the day. 

“Those are all very interesting theories. I think I’ll leave you to it,” Jim quickly gathers up his papers, backpack and coat, and makes his way to the door. 

“Fag!” 

As if that word brings anything but fond memories.


	10. "The Threat to Kill"

**17 February 1987 - age 11**

Jim is swimming in the ocean in perfect crystal-clear water, surrounded by schools of multi-colored fish and bright corals. When he raises his head to take a breath, the glittering water shimmers and stretches out into infinity, and when he turns, he sees an empty beach. It's just him and the seagulls above the water, and it’s peaceful. 

“Wake up!” A voice breaks through the imagery, and a slap hits his face.

Jim’s eyes shoot open, the dream immediately falling away, forgotten. His mother is roughly grabbing his sheets and pulling them away from his body--they’re wet. 

“Get up, and get in the shower. God, you’re so fucking worthless. I genuinely don’t understand how I could birth and raise such a pathetic being. I can’t believe this has happened AGAIN. Every fucking week, twice a week! I should just make you sleep outside like the fucking animal you are.” 

Half-asleep, he gets out of bed and shuffles towards the bathroom to clean himself off. 


	11. Broken bones

**7 months before:**

  
Jim is seeing red. Sick of being slammed into lockers, called names, and beaten up before school, he has to take action. He knows he wants Ben to leave him alone, and he’s angry. He knows they’re at the edge of the front steps to the school, and he knows there’s a several foot drop just a few inches away as he’s being crowded against the door, but he’s focused on the anger that is turning his vision a cloudy red and making him shake. Usually his anger is a calm, lapping wave, but today it’s a burst of dry thunder. He shoves his arms out, putting all of his 6-and-a-half-stone weight behind it, Ben losing his footing and falling to the echoes of a collective gasp. There’s a horrible smacking sound, a beat of silence, and then a wail. 

A couple students run down the stairs to help Ben up, as Jim leans over the ledge and sees Ben crying and holding his arm. He is simultaneously surprised and not surprised at the power and joy that he feels looking down at the boy on the ground. He attempts to mask the emotions on his face, but the look of disgust one of the bystanders is giving him shows that it’s in vain. Just as Jim decides it’s time to get away, he sees Mr. Quint, the gym teacher, rushing around the corner and up to Ben, who is starting to get up. Mr. Quint seems preoccupied with Ben, but before Jim can take more than a few steps, his name is being called. 

“James Moriarty! Don’t you DARE try to leave. Get over here.” 

Jim fixes his face into a look of concern and fear, and turns to face Mr. Quint. 

“What happened here?” 

“Um...Ben and I were messing around and he accidentally fell.” 

“Liar! You pushed me!” Ben interjects, tears still in his eyes. 

“I’ve seen the way you and Ben interact, James. You shoved him,” Mr. Quint states, and turns to address one of Jim’s classmates, who is using a tissue to wipe tears from Ben’s face. “Clarissa, can you take Ben to the nurse?” She nods, and opens the front door to escort Ben down the hall. 

“You and I are going to take a trip to see Headmaster Burr. Come on,” Mr. Quint roughly steers Jim behind Ben and Clarissa, towards the main office. 

  
……………………………………………

  
“EXPELLED?!?!” 

Jim flinches. 

“YOU GOT EXPELLED?! What the FUCK is wrong with you?!” 

“He was in my face, calling me names and hitting me! What was I supposed to-” he gets a slap to the face. 

“Don’t speak back to me. I don’t wanna fucking look at you right now. Get in your room, you’re grounded. I can’t believe you would do this to me.” 

“I’m sorry, mum.” 

“Not one more FUCKING word!” 

Jim runs upstairs, drops his backpack on the ground, and falls into bed. Even though his mum is angry, he can’t stop thinking about how strong and superior he felt at injuring another human. It was even better than watching his hawk swoop down and crush the birds he finds. Even better than self-harming. He’ll have to be much more careful about it, though. Another incident like this and he’ll be out on the streets, which is definitely worse than any beating she’s given. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter @holopansy! Feel free to follow me, message me or tweet at me!


End file.
